


Of Gods and Green Apples

by TheMostePotente



Category: Bandom, The Beatles
Genre: Gen, M/M, RPS - Freeform, Recreational Drug Use, The Beatles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMostePotente/pseuds/TheMostePotente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Paul will always be thick as thieves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gods and Green Apples

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glockgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockgal/gifts).



> Originally written for Glockgal in 2011.

****

**

Of Gods and Green Apples

**

****

:::::

It looks like it's going to be another all-nighter at 3 Abbey Road, St John's Wood.

Paul is sitting in a darkened corner of Abbey Road Studios, Höfner bass cradled in his arms. There are a few pieces of sheet music in front of him, and a cloud of marijuana smoke encircling his head. Lucky Martin's gone home for the night. He likes his boys on the straight and narrow, not stoned out of their minds. But Paul's at an impasse, and he and John have learnt how to do most of their everyday activities either drunk or stoned. This dates back to the days at the Kaiserkeller when life was simpler, and Hamburg was just England with a stranger feel to it.

The words are there, at the tip of Paul's tongue, as he tries to recall his day in Westminster. He remembers the rain. The man in the mac. Paul's shave at the barber's and the banker waiting for a trim (a little off the top and sides, please), paper in hand. And then it comes to him in a heady, naturalistic rush. The cigarette nestles behind thick bass strings. The biro slips between ink-stained fingers, the fat of the barrel flush with the permanent indent of the left hand middle-finger. He closes with the title and writes the words _Lennon/McCartney_ with a swift, sure stroke. He even crosses the T with a flourish.

It's always a little surreal to relive the process. And while this album isn't Sgt Pepper's, it's some of Paul's and John's best work. Magical Mystery Tour has seen its fair share of highs and lows, but in the end it's always John and Paul. Lennon and McCartney. Thick as thieves, even when musical differences and spectacular rows vie to split them apart. John sometimes threatens to leave, but Paul's always there to offer up a new project. And then they swear like teenaged boys that nothing will ever come between them. Neither money nor Eppy. And certainly not birds. 

Paul's just about to celebrate with another toke of his joint when John strolls inside the studio, a Granny Smith in hand. In this light and in this haze, John reminds Paul of Eris, a regular bastard of chaos and discord. And Paul supposes in some ways that he is John's Kallisti. He certainly teases Paul about it enough.

From out of his boot, John pulls a blade and severs the apple in two. He favours Paul with a salacious grin and tosses half the apple at him with all the deific vanity of Zeus javelining a lightning bolt instead. 'Still the prettiest, mate. Give us a kiss.'

Paul matches John's grin with one of this own, patting the wooden floor next to him. John settles cross-legged and extricates the Höfner from Paul's embrace, leaning it next to John's Rickenbacker 325 Capri. He takes the joint with a pinch of his fingers, inhaling before asking in a cigarette-rough voice, 'What's next on the horizon, Paulie?'

Paul examines the apple, holding it up by the stem. 'How do you feel about our own record label?'

John merely lays his head on Paul's shoulder in answer.

-+The End+-


End file.
